


In His Memory

by Royalazuredeviator



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:14:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22634116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Royalazuredeviator/pseuds/Royalazuredeviator
Summary: You were not sure what spurred you to commission a mammet made in the likeness of the lover you lost after a tiring mission.You were more confused still when the mammet began to deviate away from the programmed movements.Or "What if the Wind-Up Haurchefant contained his soul?"
Relationships: Haurchefant Greystone/Warrior of Light
Comments: 7
Kudos: 116





	In His Memory

You were not sure what drove you to commission a mammet made in his likeness.

After a tiring day of adventure of slaying stray magitek monsters and picking up supplies for a traditional Vanu snack, your mind just guided you to the workshop in Ul'dah, where you asked for a mammet made based on the sketch you kept for the longest time, and a metal chain to attach the black chocobo whistle he gifted back then. As you have memorized the tune needed to call the bird, you kept the whistle more as a memento than anything else.

The cheerful woman, Serendipity, did not seem to mind, nor know what your purpose is for commissioning such a mammet, and you handed your payment after the requests were done, complete with the metal chain. The whistle rested on the mammet's chest, close to the heart like a good luck charm.

With mixed feelings churning in your heart, you check the mammet in front of her, and wrapped it back in the provided box.

Which leads to the strange fact that in spite of your impatience during the creation process, you have not activated the mammet yet.

The mammet sat on your bedside table, light blue hair obscuring his face if one gazes at it from afar. Simple, yet capturing his likeness without fail, from the patterns etched on his armor, the colors, and down to the miniature functional blade along with a shield bearing the crest of House Fortemps. The mammet's eyes were shut still, a testament of your hesitance.

You took a deep breath, deciding that activating a mammet should not take more time than the decision to face primals and world-ending threats, and outstretched your arm upwards to send a burst of aether into the automaton. 

The reaction was immediate, its eyes opening and looking around the room as if it was a newborn taking in the sights for the first time. As if to confirm that the programmed actions did work, the mammet took a protective stance and scanned the place left and right, looking for nonexistent threats. More than anything, especially protective, it looked cute.

Day by day, the actions of the mammet became less and less of a series of actions programmed in, and more like a tiny version of Haurchefant without a voice on its own. After a chaotic battle where it was almost bitten and split in half by rampaging wolves, you decided that the best course of action was crafting a special saddle, letting him sit atop the head of the black chocobo.

The addition seemed to please the mammet, each foray into battle from then on made him raise his sword in a gesture similar to a battle cry. When you were not distracted, you could've sworn that you heard his voice, a cry full of energy, cheerful yet energizing voice amongst the crowded battlefield.

You brush away the concerned questions from your allies, saying that the mammet was simply your way to cope and they had nothing to worry about, trying to forget how you made sure its hair are free of knots every day, how you clean its armor and ensure no dirt remain longer than it should, how you spend at least a bell each day checking the condition of the mammet.

You try to ignore every little movement that is not within the specifications you gave the goldsmith. Every touch of the small, metallic arm, the reassuring squeeze, the pat on your head... Sometimes, when sitting atop the head of the black chocobo was not enough, the mammet would opt to pull on any part of clothing it could get its tiny hands on, a silent request to bend down and pick it up, and you always indulged it, bending down as much as you could and assisting the mammet to sit either atop your head or your shoulder.

Certainly, there were choice words, most of them said in a joking tone, about how a hero of their caliber has a cute mammet sitting atop their shoulder similar to how a knight sits on their faithful steed, but none dared voice any malicious complaint, and the way said mammet sometimes jumped down and wiped the blood splattering on the hero' face, either from their wounds or their enemies', is a rather endearing sight to watch.

In turn, you cleaned the mammet at the end of each day, ensuring every nook and cranny were as clean as the day you got it. Cleaning the mammet has always gotten a smile or two from you, no matter how tired you were, as it acts as if it were being exposed.

\--

After another day of adventuring, another series of deliveries to do, another crowd to save, you barely had the strength to pull your aching body to a nearest aetheryte and back into the safety of your home. 

Without you realizing it, the mammet has jumped down from its place atop your shoulder and sprinted off into your house, running to the Twelve knows where, while you were sprawled on the couch without care about how much effort it would take to clean up the place later. 

In mere moments after closing your eyes, you heard the sound of something crashing down.

Your eyes snap open, adrenaline replacing your fatigue, and you sprinted as fast as your worry would carry you. You stopped in front of the kitchen, right where the sound came from, and saw the mammet was dangling precariously on the edge of the shelf, supported only by its tiny hand and fingers. 

In utter panic, you ignored the jar of powdered cocoa and several cups that has toppled down and ran towards the mammet, catching it right as it fell down. Exhaling a sigh of relief, you placed the mammet on the kitchen counter, checking it for any scratches.

Meanwhile, the mammet seemed apologetic. Were it able to articulate its eyes, it would have burst into tears, or even break into a series of apologies any second from then. Instead, you saw it blink in a slow, deliberate way, before it casts its eyes downwards in shame.

"Hey, it's okay." You tussle the mammet's hair, and muttered as if the automaton can hear. Regardless, it seemed to be the correct choice. It lifted up its head and nodded, acting as if it was a spoiled cat.

\--

After consoling the mammet, you returned to your bedroom and collapsed, your knees giving out in sheer exhaustion after mustering just enough energy to ensure you did not fall asleep on the cold wooden floor. The mammet, like a small guardian, dutifully followed without as much as a gesture of complaint. 

The moment you collapsed, the mammet sat on the edge of the bed, stroking your cheek with a delicate touch even for a small toy. It fluffed up the pillow you used, careful not to wake you, and laid down, closing its eyes.

\--

The next morning, the mammet woke up before you did, jumping off the bed in careful strides before using the furniture around to jump onto the window. The process was less than smooth, it ended up knocking a stray piece of trinket and having to pull itself up from a ledge at the end of a rather tall drawer, but in the end its efforts have borne fruit, and it stood right in front of the window.

Gripping the curtain with a pair of tiny hands, it pushed as hard as it can, attempting to part the curtain and let sunlight in. However, the gesture did not go as intended, as the curtain only parted a little bit, letting just enough light to make the sleeping warrior open their eyes, yet not enough to create the flair it desired. Awoken by the light, their sleeping form stirred, and they open their eyes right as the mammet turned away from the window.

You froze, in shock.

Obscured by the light, you could just barely make out a silhouette of your beloved standing in front of the blinds, the blinding glare of the sun did nothing to stop you from recognizing him.

However, it was gone as suddenly as it appeared.

As the magnetic bliss of dreamless sleep left you, you saw the mammet spin and face you, before it sat on the ledge and waved its right arm in greeting, while you search for the trace of what you saw moments ago.

Noticing your lack of focus, the mammet stared at you, jumped down, and walked closer to you before pulling your cheeks. There were no real power behind the act, and more than anything, it gave you a shock.

"Hey! What was that for?"

You rubbed your eyes, staring at the tiny automaton standing in front of you.

You were not sure if it was just your half-asleep brain conjuring things, but has the mammet's eyes always looked this vibrant? It was still early morning, the golden rays of the sun has only just begun to grace the skies outside, allowing you to see a slight hint of blue glow on the mammet's eyes.

"What... Are you?"

As soon as the words left your mouth, you regretted it, feeling silly for talking like it would understand. However, as if it heard your question, the sparkle of its eyes turned even more vibrant. It turned away from you, motioned you to follow, and dashed out as fast as it could - which is ridiculously fast, as the mammets were made to be able to follow their masters even when their speed is altered by magic. It did not slow down in the slightest, forcing you to sprint after it to your study.

When you manage to catch up with it, the mammet was climbing up your desk, using the nearby chair as a makeshift ladder to reach the top. Conveniently, a blank sheet of paper has already been placed on the center of the desk, allowing the mammet to focus on getting a quill.

The quill were much too big, and it shows, stray lines marring the elegant cursive. Yet, the writing were still very much _his_ , the lover you lost when you freed the Lord Commander from his undeserved prison. The walls you built around your heart began to crumble, as you read the three words written on the paper.

"Hello, my sweet."

**Author's Note:**

> It's been like months yet I still get angry when I think of his death in the Vault. Typical.


End file.
